Going Up
by southern cross
Summary: Where does Rory end up when she starts to search for something she's lost? Future FicTrory!
1. Chapter 1

First I would like to thank my beta TheAfterglow for helping me smooth things out with my first Trory. hugs

Rated T for mild language and some innuendo. As usual, I own nothing and mean no harm! Reviews are wonderful and welcome. Please enjoy.

()Sara()

Going up, going up. The elevator ride to apartment 802 was quiet, very smooth, and doing nothing to calm her nerves. All of the ways that this was a bad idea had not made a difference in her coming here. Showing up unannounced on a Friday night, and really what were the odds that he would be here?

There was no bell to signal that her ride was over. Just the slow swish of the brakes and she was facing a hallway. _Move it Gilmore_. When had the voice of her internal motivator turned into Paris? Startled at the thought she moved quickly from the car, eager to avoid the humiliation of riding down to the lobby and then traveling right back up.

Paris would think she was nuts, no matter what the voice in her head said. How many times had she been warned of the dangers that lurked on the internet? Not the creepy, stalker, slasher kind, no the dangers lurking for Rory Gilmore were that of journal entries and flists. Pouring out one's thoughts and feelings onto a totally customizable page that gave friends instant access, to laugh or cry with, was addicting.

It was an addiction that had captured Rory since the last and final breakup with Logan. Yale had ended for her in the spring and what should have been a fun- filled summer before her entry into the 'real world' was decidedly not. Somewhere along the way Rory had lost something. Something that didn't have a name, that wasn't visibly apparent to those closest to her and something she was determined to find again.

Thus the entry journals had been filled with questions and memes and advice. So much advice from well meaning friends on how best to find something you weren't sure was lost. Confusing? Sure. And then it had come, the entry that had changed it all, this morning while in her hotel room, from a person whom she had never met, but considered a friend. It was so simple and so perfect that she had nearly screamed her relief.

"_Chica, you just gotta find that someone who knew the 'you' you are trying to remember and won't know about all the baggage you are trying to move past. The conversations and interactions won't have anything hovering them. Just go from then to now and then move forward. hugs. Let me know how it goes okay?"_

Thank God for well meaning souls full of good advice that lived in the mid-west!

Hours had passed as names were both brought forth by Google and then rejected, well maybe not quite that long, and it was amazing how many people she had known for so long. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that her inner circle and most of her outer circle hadn't changed in many years? She had nearly given up, she had been given a chance to end this slump she was in and was about to come up short, when she stumbled across a name. A name she hadn't thought of in years, a name whose initials had been on the gold plate of the mail box in the lobby.

Now she stood in his hallway, the elevator long gone, and her palms rubbing absently on her jeans. Two doors faced her, right and left, two units per floor, twelve floors in the building. All details provided by yet another Google. Lucky for her that they were currently occupying the same city, the same building now, that was always a plus when you were seeking a reaffirmation of your life. _'Reaffirmation of you life.' Really, Gilmore isn't that a bit dramatic?_ With a roll of her eyes, she mentally shut Paris up.

So maybe her expectations were a bit unrealistic, but she couldn't second guess herself now. Just walk up to the door, see if he's there and well, then yeah. That was about as far as she had gotten. Taking a deep breath she walked up to the  
door and before the voices in her head could talk her out of it, she knocked.

-----

How long had he been standing there? One hand rested on the pane of glass just above his head, leaning towards the window, he looked down at the people and the lights that shone so brightly at night. Mentally shrugging he continued his observation of the world that passed. The neck of the bottle he held had just met his lips when he heard the knock at the door.

Frowning, he took a sip of the beer, even as his head turned towards the noise. Nobody came here, and if they did, they certainly gave warning. Flicking his eyes to his phone, he saw that the little green light blinked steadily signaling all was well in the world of cell towers and networks.

The second knock was a little louder this time, but more hesitant. Well whoever it was they seemed to be determined to see him. Curious now, he set the beer down on the closest coaster and made his way down the hall to the foyer.

No sooner had his hand gripped the door knob than the third set of knocks came, this time they were soft, softer even than the first set. They were the saddest set of knocks he had ever heard. _'Sad door knocks?'_ Frowning at his own ridiculous thoughts, he yanked the door open with more ferocity than he had intended, earning a gasp from whoever stood on the other side.

Head cocked to one side, he studied the woman before him. Dark brown hair fell down both sides of her bowed head, concealing her identity. His mouth opened for a question, then closed as her face was revealed and all he could do was stare.

The hell, "Mary…?"

--------

He remembered her! She had not wanted to think of what she would have done had he not remembered her and thankfully those scenarios, although lacking in existence, would not be needed.

Smiling at the name she had not heard for so very long, she slid her hands into her back pockets, "Tristan."

Tristan DuGrey, the King of Chilton himself was standing before her looking as surprised as she had ever remembered seeing him. Curling her hands into tight fists, digging them deeper into her pockets, she felt his eyes on her. She had forgotten how he liked to stare.

Gathering her courage she let her eyes travel the length of him. Khakis and a tee shirt covered a long and lean frame; he seemed much taller than she had remembered, but then it had been years since she'd seen him. They had changed.

What was the most startling change in his appearance was the absence of the boy band look he had finely tuned. What replaced it now was a shorn head and loose beard, changes indeed. Moments had passed as they had taken stock of each other and Rory had become painfully aware that she was still standing in his hallway.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting something," she hoped he took the hint; she really did because she was not going to beg.

Tristan blinked once, then again so as to be absolutely certain now that she was real. Only then did her words begin to register. _Interrupting?_

"What? No, God. You want to come in?"

Her smile was blinding, really--he saw her lips part and for a second everything else melted away. He had made no movement away from the door, but she did not hesitate to take the invite.

"I'd love to."

Glad to be moving, Rory ducked under the arm that had a white knuckle grip on the doorway. Leaving Tristan standing there, she made her way down the hall before he could change his mind.

Once again his mind had wandered off. All he had done was open the door and then bam! Unbelievable, shaking his head at the strangeness of it all, one thought kept pushing itself to the fore front; it seemed Rory Gilmore had grown up. Shutting the door softly, he turned in time to see her disappear into his living room.

---------

There were things that Rory was certain of. Her mother loved her, Coffee was essential and Tristan DuGrey was so very grown up and, just in the quick look she had taken of the room she stood in, so very much out of her league. League, what league? There were to be no leagues involved tonight. There would be conversation, perhaps some reminiscing on old times, but nothing remotely requiring membership into a league. God, she felt insane.

Putting an abrupt stop the mental rambling she took a deep breath, expelling the scent of him. _What?_ So she had gotten a good whiff of his cologne as she passed under his arm. She refused to think about how good he had smelled, at least he was keeping a proper bath schedule, or how strong the jolt had been when her head had brushed against his elbow, and well there was nothing she could sanely counter with that so she simply stepped on the thought.

It had been too long since she had been so close to a man, that was all it was. _Ha!_ That was as good enough a reason as any for the jolt. She was here to rekindle a friendship, nothing more, never mind that the doorman who helped her from the cab had don nothing but make her hand clammy.

Pushing aside her treacherous thoughts, she took a quick survey of her surroundings, recognizing that she now stood in the living room. _Ooh!_ Her first impulse was to go over to the bookcase that lined nearly one whole wall to her left, but she resisted, now was certainly not the time to get lost in a book. Not fair, she wanted a wall full of books.

Rolling her eyes at the inner Lorelai that begun to whine, she turned to her right choosing a seat in one of the leather chairs nearest the fireplace. Sitting was better than letting the nervous energy in her legs force her to pace.

Tristan found her sitting, absently playing with her sleeves, and he couldn't help but smile, a smile her knew would be remembered, at how much she looked like the Mary he remembered. Her eyes raised then and his eyebrow rose when her face began to turn the cutest shade of red.

Good, let her see what his own, personal, dazzling smile can do to the unprepared.

Keeping his distance, for the moment, he kept his voice light, "So what brings you here?"

Grateful for the distraction away from his damn smile, why did he have to be so freaking good-looking? "I'm in New York for some interviews, just checking out the scene."

Interesting, he assumed she would have been well on her way to her first Pulitzer by now. Since when had he _assumed_ anything about a woman, he needed a beer. _Shit._

"Do you want something a drink?" Already moving towards the kitchen he threw the question over his shoulder.

Rory was caught off guard by his retreat. "Sure."

She wasn't sure if he even heard her, his back had disappeared so quickly. Not ready to be deterred she rose and followed him into the kitchen, curious to see more of his place.

Tristan knew it was rude, leaving her sitting there, but he was still trying to catch up with her very being here. Reaching the kitchen he continued his dialogue with her from over his shoulder. "There's beer and water and well, orange juice."

Scanning the contents of the fridge he realized now how little in the way of provisions he actually had, but then it wasn't like he knew he would be entertaining tonight.

Rory wasn't really thirsty, but it would be silly to refuse at this point. "Juice is fine."

So the tension was getting annoying. Where was the wit? The banter, laden with inappropriate remarks was missing. Sighing, she watched him as he poured her a glass. His profile lit by the open door of the fridge. What to do? What to do?

Taking a sip of the offered juice, the sugar on her tongue gave her a jolt. This was stupid, stupid to be scared, it was just Tristan. _Just Tristan my ass_! Not missing a beat her eyes flicked down to his ass to assess what held up the belt, she could feel her cheeks start to burn and turned away as quickly as she realized what she doing. Leagues remember?

Tristan could feel her staring; the little hairs on the back of his neck were raised. He smirked, Rory was checking him out, almost a decade later than he had hoped, but who was he to complain?

Armed with a fresh beer, he led her back to the living room motioning for her to take the seat she had abandoned. A mite late, but he was finally using the manners he had been force fed. Busying himself by taking a long drink of the lager, he waited for her to speak. It was apparent that the words were itching to spill over.

She stood suddenly, the juice in the glass dangerously close to spilling at the abrupt motion. The hard wood floors breathed a sigh of relief when she set the glass down she held and began to pace.

"Tristan, God, you must think I am crazy for just showing up like this."

With a shrug, he went for as calm a voice as he could manage, given her sudden agitation.

"Surprised? Yes. Crazy? No."

He was so calm, that was good, she could do calm, she had to do calm. Resuming her path, her hands weaved patterns before her as she continued.

"Honestly I don't know exactly why I am here."

_Liar!_ Her face scrunched up, she was such a terrible liar. Really she was, but maybe he didn't know that. One eye popped open and she took a peak in his direction.

Tristan could only smirk when her face came to the same conclusion as he had. Yeah, she was a terrible liar.

_Busted._ Damn. So what, he had invited her in after all, no questions asked. Realization washed over her. Looking around feeling the unfamiliar walls, which really were very nice, begin to close in her. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. Whatever reasons she had for coming here were muddled and her courage had evaporated.

Panicked now, she began to move towards the door. "Maybe I should go."

Whoa, what. Before he could speak, she was making moves towards the door. "Rory, stop, just stop."

Moving to block her path to the door, he put up his hands in what he hoped was a friendly plea for her to quit moving. Her body slowed and then stilled, although she still looked ready to bolt at any second.

"Tristan…"

Holding up a hand, he watched her mouth shut in annoyance.

"I don't know why you are here and as curious as I am, right now it doesn't matter."

Now her face was that of a surprised onlooker.

"As long as you aren't here to enact some form of suppressed revenge as recommended by your therapist due to a traumatic high school experience, why don't we just sit down and talk."

Rory didn't know whether she wanted to laugh out loud or slip away quietly. Crossing her arms she studied his face. His eyes were bright and he looked for all the world as though he were enjoying this; baiting her, smirking at her, just as he had done so many times before.

Taking a deep breath, fully prepared to set him straight, it occurred to her that _this_ was what she had come here for. It had been, what twenty minutes that she had been here and not once had she thought of well, everything she didn't want to think about.

Nodding, she let her arms cross in front her, "Fine."

"Fine?" He seemed unconvinced of her answer and still stood poised to block her from the door.

_Sheesh!_ She had said fine what more did he want. Having already turned away from him, she missed his smile, settling back down in the chair she had claimed earlier.

Truly it was a wonder she wasn't dizzy from the constant shifting of her decisions. Shaking his head, he dropped back into the chair across from her. For reasons unknown to him, she was annoyed with him. The face she wore was one that, though it had been awhile, he knew very well. Her cheeks were starting to pink from the emotion and he felt a tightening in his gut. How could he have forgotten how well she wore her anger and annoyance?

Tristan couldn't help but stare at her mouth as the glass of juice settled onto her lips. _Dammit._ What the hell was it about Rory Gilmore that tied him into knots? Oh, well. He could think of worse things to be tied to, but first he was suddenly curious just how red he could make her.

Rory had barely swallowed the last bit of juice when she caught sight of his lips curling into a smirk. _Uh-oh_.

"So tell me what ever happened to you and the bag boy?"

---------------

"I swear it happened just like that."

Rory's laughter was warm and clear as it made its way towards him and he smiled. The past hour had been full of stories of Harvard and Yale, nothing too personal but still familiar. Not how he had planned on spending this Friday night, but he could hardly think of a time, recently at least, that he had been happier.

Rory was amazed. Tristan could weave his stories in such a way as to make her think that she lived it first hand. Words were his weapon, his tool, much as she had a way with pen and paper. Their drinks were long since empty, and as the quiet settled over them she realized the time had come to move forward or move backwards.

Leaning back in his chair, his legs bouncing slightly, he watched her think. It had been one of his favorite things back in school. Once upon a time he had known every look, every expression. Just watching as her face twisted and turned around her thoughts made him feel 16 again. Falling back so easily into an old habit bothered him. Why had this girl, _woman_, held such power over him?

She looked up then, blue on blue, and he realized it was simple. She held power over him, by simply never wanting to hold that power, or anything else that was associated with him. Pulling her eyes away form his, she had turned her gaze across the room. Cocking his head to the side he studied her profile, maybe it was time to see if anything about that theory had changed.

"Are you hungry?" His sudden question startled her nearly as much as it startled him, but he went with the impulse. "We could head downtown and get some dinner."

Looking down at her watch she saw that it was rather late for dinner, that could be her out, and she knew that he knew that. Gnawing on her lip, she considered her options. End what had been a rather nice reunion or take a chance.

The intensity of his stare startled her, it was solely focused on her mouth and she let go of her lip. Whatever was in his eyes, she wasn't ready to give it a name, made her stomach twist painfully. The eyes cut to hers and she had a choice to make.

"I could eat."

Her voice was hardly confident, but he didn't care, not with her looking at him like that. He would take what he could get, just like he had years ago. Winking at her, he smiled at her blush, only maybe this time their ending would be different.

"Then let's be on our way." Rising, he extended his hand towards her.

Looking up, she felt small when he towered over her like that, but then he was Tristan and Tristan had always been larger than life. Wondering if his touch would elicit the same jolt, she took his hand with only the slightest of hesitations.

Damn, it was like touching a live wire, "Thanks."

Every nerve in his body was centered on the hand in his palm, "What are you in the mood for?"

The innuendo was not lost on her and she wondered where the rise of indignation was. Squeezing his hand tighter, she looked up just as a questioning eyebrow arched.

This was in no way how she had thought the evening would turn out, she had gambled on a quick conversation hopefully some laughs, but nothing that contained such heat had ever entered her musings. Nevertheless his hand wrapped around hers was very real and not even she could ignore the way his touch was making her heart beat faster. Leagues be dammed, she had never been one for organized sports.

Confidence surged through her; this man, Tristan, was standing here putting the ball in her court, so, well maybe some sports were okay, and she thought just maybe she was ready to play, "Everything."

His jaw clenched as the implications of her answer took on varying forms in his imagination. If you had told him twenty four hours ago that this was how he would be starting his weekend, Tristan would have laughed you out of the room, _everything._

He could do everything. Pulling her after him he headed towards the door, his voice was barely audible, "I can do everything."

----------------

Times Square was breathtaking. Of course, she had visited there before, but never had it been quite so quite. Nor had the company been quite so… amusing. Throughout their exploration Tristan had filled her head with interesting tidbits and her stomach full of delicious appetizers.

Rather than settling down for a meal, which would have left them stuck inside, they had opted for a dinner of walking foods; fries, hot dogs, gyros, and pretzels. Sharing more often than not, neither pondered the intimacy of the gesture of her hand, rock steady, feeding him a bite of pizza.

"This has to be the most delicious thing I have ever eaten." Taking another bite of her pretzel her eyes closed as the salt and dough hit her tongue.

Watching her devour her pretzel from the corner of his eye, Tristan smiled at her attempts to finish her bite and drink from her second coffee cup of the night, "Seems that's been the consensus on each item tonight."

Rolling her eyes, even while she took her final bite, she shrugged, "What can I say I'm a connoisseur." The words muffled, although muffled by the dough, were still audible. Unable to resist, she grinned around the bite.

Tossing the napkin into the nearest trash can, Rory smiled at his laughter. He had a nice laugh, one that made you think of sand and waves. Standing before her, hands in his pockets, the fabric from the button down he had donned before leaving gathering at his wrists, he looked…well, he just looked fine.

Grinning again, his humor contagious, she didn't fight the urge to slip her arm around his elbow. The gesture was friendly, fun and she ignored the screaming Paris in her head.

Tristan froze. Glancing down at the crown of her head, then to the point where their arms linked, he found himself startled by the rightness of it all. _Rightness?_ Four years of Harvard and that was what he could muster. Wouldn't his alma mater be proud?

Rory looked up, and finding his eyes on hers, her breath caught. Never had she been so forward with him. Well, except for the whole showing-up-unannounced thing and maybe the ice cream thing about a block back, but no, she didn't think she had ever willingly touched him.

Really though, what had she been waiting for?

There were moments and then there were _moments_, Tristan knew that and he was certain Rory did too. Looking at her now, he wondered if they shared this moment, on this night, on this street, would it last.

_Oh crap._ Still unable to look away, her whole world centered in on his face, his eyes, his lips. Was this falling? Was this the _moment_? And then his head was moving, tilting down, and the second before his lips met hers she knew it was most definitely their moment.

It had been an impulse, the second of the night, and now that he had the warm lips of Rory Gilmore pressed against his, he couldn't think of a time he had ever made a wiser decision.

The kiss was short. An instant, a moment in time; where flesh met in what could almost be called a chaste collision. Rory didn't think she had ever been rocked harder by a kiss. In fact she could hardly think at all. Licking her lips, traces of salt and Tristan rolled over her tongue, she was strangely proud of herself. Briefly, she wondered how different things might have been had their kiss, on a piano bench so long ago, tasted quite so delicious.

They had kissed and she was still here. That fact alone made Tristan feel as though he had accomplished something great. That fact, and the way her shoulder pressed further into him as opposed to away, made him just feel great.

"So?" The silence, although not uncomfortable, had become oppressive.

Tristan smiled at her, "So." Repetition was a form of flattery right? No, that was imitation. The pink on her cheeks was in a hue he had never seen him be the cause of and that was a good thing.

Rory didn't know what she was supposed to do next and it seemed Tristan was not going to be any help. He had left it up to her. There was no outline for this sort of thing. Her whole evening so far, had been unscripted and she was at a loss. There was one thing that was clear, one thing she was most certain of however, and the longer she looked at him, the more confidant she was, "Kiss me again, Tristan."


	2. Chapter 2

First off I want to thank everone for the wonderful reviews! You made me feel very welcome in a new fandom and it inspired me to finish up this story.

Please enjoy! I own nothing and mean no harm and as noted above reviews feed my muse:)

* * *

"Hello?" As surprised as she had been at the hour at which her phone was ringing, nothing could have shocked Rory more than the voice on the other end, "Offspring."

Double checking her watch, just to be sure it hadn't stopped; she didn't bother to hide the surprise from her voice, "Mom?"

"Of course it's your mother."

Smiling, Rory took a seat on the edge of the bed, attempting to put on her shoes and balance the small phone on her shoulder. "What are you doing up so early?"

The groan on the other end of the line was expected, "The question is how you can be so awake this early?"

"Ah, I see. You called thinking I was going to be asleep, therefore waking me up, devious wench. What brings Lorelai Gilmore to the land of early morning sunshine?"

"Something about a towel crisis at the Inn, but by the time I got there, Michel had it sorted. I swear I think he does that just to irritate me." Rory smiled at statement, not bothering to deny her mother's observations.

"I thought for certain you'd be asleep, you are, after all, on vacation." Snorting, Rory reached for the hair brush.

"Mom, I told you this isn't a vacation, I'm just…" "I know I know. You're getting a feel for the lay of the land, blah, blah, blah. That's all very good, but it's New York City! There should be late nights and clubs and, and well late nights." Rory couldn't help but smile as she thought of the late night that had turned into an early morning.

"What is it?" Startled by the question, she frowned at her reflection, hand pausing mid stroke. "What?"

"You were smiling." The accuracy of her mother's comment amazed her and her face went from frown to fish. "Come on Rory, spill. What naughtiness has ensued since our last conversation?"

Rory saw no reason to deny the fact, "Yes, Mother. I was smiling."

Lorelai's sharp intake of breath gave Rory every indication that a switch had been flipped in her Mother's head, "What happened to you last night?"

Even as she opened her mouth to continue, she was cut off, "You sound different. I talked to you yesterday and you sounded like Rory and now you sound like Rory, but different."

Rory couldn't help but roll her eyes. "That makes no sense."

Her mother was not to be deterred however, "A-Ha! I knew it! No denial, just a weak attempt at misdirection."

Sighing, she put the forgotten hair brush back on the dresser and reached for the over priced mini-bar water, "You're right Mom."

The admission came with silence, but when her Mother's voice came back over the line it was considerably softer, "Rory."

This conversation had been so long in coming that she didn't know what to say now that she was faced with the moment.

"After Logan," his name was still a painful set of consonants and vowels, "and Yale I've felt different. Like something was off."

She paused, picking through her mental thesaurus, hoping the right words would be highlighted.

"I couldn't place it or even give it a name." At that point her voice tapered off, she wasn't sure what else she could say, "Mom?"

"I'm here."

Rory could feel the shock rolling off her Mother through the phone line. There was a possibility that what she was, would, say could hurt her Mother and that was not her intention, but now that she had started the words wouldn't stop coming.

"Yesterday, right after I talked to you in fact, I got some advice. A way for me, to maybe, get past what was throwing off my groove," as she spoke the clearer it all became.

"That's it," her voice becoming louder as the idea sunk in, "My groove was off. Logan and the mess with school had knocked something off line." The technical reference may have been lost on her Mother but she was too excited to clarify, "and so, yes, I was smiling because I feel more, more…"

"…online," the word she couldn't find had apparently ended up with Lorelai, "exactly."

Taking a deep breath, heading out of the bathroom she had no recollection of walking into, she heard Lorelai take a deep breath of her own.

"Am I crazy Mom?"

"No, honey, you're not. It's just…I'm just…I'm so sorry Rory."

"Mom…"

"No, you're right. You have been different and I should have been paying more attention."

The playful tone that had been in Lorelai's voice was gone now and Rory knew that making her Mother feel better at this point would be no small feat. Rory didn't want her Mother's guilt; there had been enough guilt, enough angst the past year to last them clear into the new decade.

In true Gilmore fashion she would need to steer the conversation into more light-hearted topics before they would both be to emo to be of use to anyone other than Ben & Jerry's today.

"I met a guy." Lorelai's jaw audibly dropped, the statement was as effective as ice water on the sleeping.

"What!" Not giving her Mother any time to recover, she launched into an explanation.

"Well actually I re-met a guy. Either way it was so great Mom. There was food and kissing and magnets," before she could go any further she was cut off.

"Re-met?" Of course her Mom would focus on that tiny detail.

"Yeah, re-met, although I don't think that's actually a word."

"Rory…"

"Okay Mom, geez, I found Tristan." Cringing, the words had sounded better in her head, probably didn't have a possessive or something.

"Tristan…"

"Chilton, Mom, Romeo, Satan…"

"Oh! Satan. Wait, Satan made you smile?" Smirking, she knew Tristan would just love to hear this conversation.

"Yeah, he did." Whoa, her voice hadn't sounded that soft, that wistful in so long, hardly felt like hers.

"Whoa," Lorelai's telepathy chose that moment to kick in, "So that was creepy."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing, Mom…" "Did you say something about kisses?" on its way to pick up her watch, her hand froze.

"Uh, Did I?" "Yeah, you did." As glad as she was that her distraction techniques had worked and her mother was no longer on the verge of tears and ice cream, she had no time to start this conversation.

Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, gathering the highlights with each number and let it all out.

"Yes, there were kisses, plural. Yes, Tristan is a great kisser. Yes, I'm obsessing over it. Yes, I'm going to see him again, in about ten minutes actually. No, I don't know what, if anything, will come from this. Yes, I know what I'm doing. No, you can't talk to him yet. And yes, I'm okay with everything, really okay with it. Oh, and yes you'll get all the details when I get home." Drawing in a much needed breath, she was certain she had caught everything, but just in case, "Am I forgetting anything?"

"Yes," of course she was, "What?"

"Is he as hot as he was back at Chilton?"

Red creeped up her neck, "Oh, Mom. You have no idea."

"Good. That's good. Do everything I would do Rory," only her mother would say something like that, "I love you offspring."

Rory smiled, "I love you to Mom."

She felt good. Yes, there was more they had to discuss, but it would be easier now, and that felt good.

The knocks on the door were a clear signal that she was going to be feeling even better, very soon.

* * *

_Six months later_

"Just one hint," Rory had been doing her best, for the past hour, to get him to spill one tiny detail, "Please."

No one could resist that voice, those eyes, she knew well enough the damaging effect her baby blues had, but all they earned her was a smirk.

"Nice try, but I don't think so," calmly Tristan settled back into the seat of the cab.

"Fine," in a huff Rory crossed her arms. Convinced her pout could get something out of him, she turned it on full force, and "I really didn't want to know anyway."

"Sure you didn't," great now he was laughing at her.

Whatever he had planned it was big, she could feel it. Regardless of her demeanor, inside she was as excited as she could remember being. He had a surprise for her; A _surprise._

Christmas was a week away and they, she, had laid out specific rules and guidelines to be followed for the holiday. Presents and parties; visits and signatures; each item had been discussed and agreed upon.

Tomorrow they were leaving for Star's Hollow; he had not had a problem with spending Christmas at her Mother's, attending a week's worth of festivities, no complaints. Not one; so long as he had today.

In all the time they had dated he had never been so secretive, so demanding. Tristan had told her when to be ready, 2pm, what to wear, warm but not fancy clothes, and she had to bring her camera.

Not just any camera, but the one her Mother had insisted she get that had all the memory and all the features for her to document her move and life in the big, bad NYC.

As it turned out, her prospects had panned out nicely that weekend once upon a time. She had gotten taken the job she really and truly wanted and made the move to New York.

The decision had not been an easy one, true, but having Tristan, well having him in general made it a whole lot easier.

It was Tristan who had helped her scour the papers for just the right place, then helped with the weekend's worth of moving.

It was Tristan that had helped her, over one frustrating week, full of phone calls and texts' learn to maneuver through the subways and cabs.

It was Tristan who had reminded her, through kisses, touches, laughs, who Rory was.

Sighing, she uncrossed her arms. The memory walk had made her feel guilty. Pouting would only sour her outlook, especially since it had no apparent effect on his mood.

What seemed like the longest ride ever had finally come to a stop. Maybe twenty minutes out from her place, and the traffic had cooperated, but it was a part of the city she was not familiar with.

Tristan helped her from the cab, she was careful not to step in any of the slush that hid the curb; she took a moment to survey her surroundings.

Lined up and down both blocks were brownstones. Frowning she looked for a shop hidden in a nook or a restaurant in a cranny, but came up with nothing.

Having paid for their ride, Tristan's attention turned her way.

"Ready?" his hand was on her arm and she couldn't believe the excitement in his voice.

"I guess so," each word was hidden in a puff of white. The news had said to expect a drop in temperature; she was grateful she had worn several layers, as it was better to have more and need less than be without.

Following his lead, they crossed the street, she was still uncertain of where they were headed.

Expecting to head further up one way or another, she was surprised when he headed up the front steps of the closest façade. He had merely slid the key into the lock, when her heart began to pound.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. "Rory," his voice pulled her from her overreacting brain, "are you coming?"

There, five steps above her, smiling as big and bright as the night she had confirmed the fact that she was for all intents and purposes his girl, was Tristan. She was making no sense, having realizations that were keeping space between them.

Urging her feet to work, she nodded and skipped up the steps.

Before her the mahogany and beveled glass door swung open; Tristan ushered her inside, followed, and then closed the door behind him. Just as her mouth opened, questions and thoughts finally formulating, she felt a cold finger press against her lips.

"I know you have questions, and if I know you, a lot of them, but just let me explain," God, how could she resist, his eyes were twinkling. It was just unfair that he had twinkling eyes and a whole big plan and she couldn't even speak.

Even so she felt herself nod and damn him, his grin grew wider.

"Close your eyes," that little cheater!

"Tristan, you said you were going to explain, how is me closing my eyes, going to explain anything." She knew she was maybe being a little bit difficult, but it wasn't fair.

"Come on Rory, just a little longer, I swear." Great, now he had twinkling eyes and he was pouting. How exactly had she ended up with such a convincing and beautiful boyfriend?

"Okay, Okay, enough with the lip," eyes closing, she heard another door open.

Hands came up to cover her eyes and she bit back a smart comment, she would try to be good. The mantra began to repeat itself in her head.

"That's it then, just take a few steps forward," she gave him four, "now to your right," this time three, "and once more forward," with a sigh he got four.

"Perfect," if she had expected him to uncover her eyes, which yes she had, she was to be disappointed.

Maybe he wanted to drag out the tension, although it was tight enough to snap on her end, or maybe he was nervous, which was would be so very out of character. Tristan was one of the most confident and assured people she had ever known.

His innate knowledge of self-worth had worked wonders on her self-esteem; to think that he doubted now, well it quite simply floored her.

Subdued somewhat by the seconds that passed, even more certain of her latter assessment, she was on the verge of asking him if he was okay when his hands lifted.

Still shocked by what had happened, something so small, but so very telling, that her eyes stayed closed.

Feeling foolish, she realized he was probably waiting for her to see and react to whatever it was he had done; she opened her eyes.

The view around her settled into her head. So, okay, whatever it was she had thought she was going to see the paint splattered floors and unfinished walls were no where on the list.

As her gaze turned upward, delighting at the gothic moldings, he began to speak.

"You know if you Google the address and mix it with yours and mine, you'll find that we are standing on one of the half-way points."

Caught somewhere between the curving arch ways and the massive fireplace, his words slammed into her. Turning on her heel, noting that once buffed and polished the floors would be shiny and beautiful, she stared at him; hands in his pockets, gnawing on the perfect lip, he stared back.

Of course they had talked about maybe the possibility of sometime moving in together. She was confused, she needed clarity.

"You bought this?" her heart gave a little tug when he grinned sheepishly; running a hand over his short, short hair.

"Yeah, I guess I did." She would need more than that, with eyebrows rising dangerously, she hoped he got the message.

"It's just you seemed hesitant to move into my place, and yours, although great," wise man this one, "hardly holds all of your stuff much less mine."

What he said made sense, it really did, it was just so big, so big her head couldn't see around the other side.

"Just think of it Ror," the excitement was back full force, "this place is unfinished, we could make it be whatever, however we wanted it to be."

Unfinished, something begun but never completed. How many things had she left unfinished? Nearly snorting at the completely unnecessary self-analysis, she took a second look around.

The walls needed work the floors too, but there were touches she already liked.

"I checked the distance; it's only a little bit further for both of us to get to work if we get creative with our routes," she could do creative.

Warming to the idea, she let him talk.

"There are three floors, plus a basement, oh and you'll love this, there's roof access," yes there was a lot of space, a ton from the way it sounded, but it was the last part that had her smiling towards the wall opposite her.

"It'll be a mess, but do you want to see?"

Did she need to see?

"No."

Really, she hadn't meant for it to come out so cold, so final. Watching everything on his face just fall had her throat constricting.

"Rory…" not able to keep her face straight, she broke out into the biggest of smiles.

The steps that separated them couldn't be crossed fast enough. Before he could say another word she was on top of him. With a scream she jumped into his arms, confident that he would catch her, she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

With a grunt he caught her, caught her and squeezed her tight. "Ro…"

"Shut up Tristan. Shut up and let me tell you how much I love you."

Kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin, anything in her reach, she felt rather than saw him smile.

All of this, him, them, it was everything she had, could want.

"It's perfect Tristan; perfect. You are perfect."

Everything that had fallen in his face had picked up again. The room began to spin and she squealed, yes squealed, and held onto him tighter.

"I cannot believe you did all of this."

Resting her head against his, she took a breath, drawing in his scent, his joy and smiled. She didn't think she would ever stop smiling.

"So you like it? Cause if you don't I'm sure we can find somewhere else."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled back enough so he could see her face, read her eyes, "I love it."

He seemed to believe her then, because his smile was dazzling and his kiss was mind blowing.

Although kissing Tristan was a joy in itself she wanted to see, to explore what it was that was theirs. Pulling back, enough to formulate words, she tugged on his ear when his lips pressed into her neck.

"Come on, show me our home, Tristan." The words had their desired effect as his lips halted and he let her slide down his body with only a small groan.

Grabbing his hand she slipped her free fingers into her pocket; fist curling around the camera he insisted she bring. That he knew her so well made her grin.

With a much practiced movement she flipped it on, bringing it up to snap a shot of the fireplace.

"Are we really going to do this?" Looking over her shoulder, she snapped a picture of him.

Tightening the grip she had on his hand she pulled him after her, recording each step. Her Mom would want to see every inch of the place on her shiny new laptop.

"I really think we are."

The rest of the day and into the evening they laughed, planned, plotted and dreamed. In her head she could already see how it would be how it could be and she was half in love with the place when they left; driven out by the dark and cold.

Riding up the warm elevator back in his building, she replayed the day's events in her mind. Wrapping her arms around him, she dropped her head in between his shoulder blades.

Had it only been six months ago that she had ridden up this elevator; looking for something, something that didn't have a name?

Hearing the bell sound their arrival she thanked her lucky stars that she had found a name; Tristan DuGrey.


End file.
